Words:1468 -- Rating: T -- Goro Akechi x Akiren Kurumiya (Akira, Ren, whatever you want to call MC, dude has more names than a baby book)
11/18 - Friday
He pushed the cup away and asked, with narrowed eyes, for it to be bitter. There was a harshness to his words, and in the pause came a moment of clarity. Akechi chuckled, and with a polite flourish, as though attempting to alleviate the abrasiveness of the demand, stated simply: “please, I’m sure you can do it, you’re quite talented.”
Akira wanted to tell him there was no need for the façade, that they were the only souls within the walls of Le Blanc, and he already knew who Akechi really was. There was no reason for him to be the Second Coming of the Detective Prince when it was just them, he was performing for no one, an audience who was well-aware of what happened behind the scenes.
“Most people ask me to sweeten it,” Akira set the rejected cup to the side, no point in wasting good coffee, and went to work on making one more attuned to Akechi’s taste.
“Most people are fools,” Akechi smiled and rested his chin against clasped hands. Again, there came the chuckle, a boyish, attractive sound, his act resumed and persisting. “I’m only joking, it makes sense that people would gravitate away from bitterness, it being a sign of poison and all. I don’t hate sweets, but I’m not exactly partial to them, so maybe I’m the foolish one, I’ve just never been a fan of sugar-coating things.”
Akira nodded, handing him the new brew, and Akechi sipped, for a moment closing his eyes, contemplating the taste.
“That’s better.”
Akira placed his apron on the counter and went to the fridge for dinner. Curry sounded, as it always did, good. “Happy to help.”
A part of him didn’t like having his back turned to Akechi, didn’t like the moment of vulnerability where he couldn’t see what the other was doing. But then again, there was a thrill in it.
“Would you like to taste it?” the question echoed through the empty café.
Akira rose from the fridge. “What?”
The young man sat, arms crossed, smiling pleasantly as he motioned to the coffee. He repeated, his gaze as sharp as he wanted his voice to sound: “Would you like to taste it?”
Was it taunting that Akira was picking up on, or something else? He grabbed himself a plate before responding, not so much buying time as seeing how Akechi would react. Akechi watched him, each movement traced by an attentive glance, each shift followed with acute care. The following gaze was enough to bring a swath of warmth through Akira, but with a shake of the head, he pushed it down.
“I have my own,” He motioned to the rejected cup before he began to prepare his dinner and something within himself deflated.
“Of course,” Akechi’s gaze finally faltered, and he looked to the television, listening to the recent report on the Phantom Thieves.
Disappointment? He couldn’t quite…didn't want to think about why his cheeks flushed, why his heart quickened.
Akechi drank his coffee, his brow furrowing as he listened to the news. Akira allowed the dull drone of the television to fade into quiet as he ate his curry and sipped at the rejected coffee. Time passed and the cups were emptied, the OPEN sign flipped to CLOSED, but Akechi stayed, and Akira, despite it all, didn’t think to tell him to leave.
It was only time that made the detective rise, and maybe, only politeness that made Akira walk him to the Ginza line to catch the last train. The distance between them, though their hands frequently brushed against one another, felt larger with each step away from Le Blanc.
They stood, waiting for both the train and the other to talk. In the silence, uncertainty blossomed. The incoming train was announced, the whine of rubbed steel beginning to reverberate, when Akechi finally spoke.
“If you were to abandon the Phantom Thieves,” the words were nearly drowned by the shrill whine of the approaching train. “We could be allies.”
The words Akechi had said just hours prior still echoed in Akira's mind: "I'm going to be entirely honest with you: I hate you."
“Allies?” the train pulled to a stop and Akechi stepped inside, Akira’s words hanging between them. “In the Metaverse you made it clear you think of me as a rival.” Yet he knew exactly what Akechi meant, because in his back pocket, as though attesting for the truth of his words, Akechi's glove still lay patiently waiting for their next battle.
The doors began to close, and Akechi’s smile, small and barely there, was genuine.
Was real.
“It’s a thin line Akira.”
The doors closed and the train pulled away, and once again, they were separated.
1/15 – Sunday
Akechi waited in Kichijoji, umbrella in one hand, Styrofoam cup in the other as his breath fogged before him. Akira’s statement, if you wanted coffee, I could have brought you some, came before he even slowed to a stop.
Akechi didn’t laugh the way he used to, that fake boyish charm lost to circumstances. Now, he only smirked before gesturing towards one of the many, dark alleys. Akira followed him, sheltered from the rain by the umbrella, and neither spoke until they were shrouded in the privacy of darkness.
“Why did you want to meet without Sumire, she has a right to be involved in this, we don’t have much time.”
“You’re right, we don’t have much time,” the rain pattered against the umbrella, and Akechi’s voice seemed to lower. “What we’re discussing is between just us.”
A droplet of water dotted against Akira’s neck, and he stepped closer to Akechi. The smell of the coffee was alluring, but Akira’s eyes never left Akechi’s, their gazes locked, words curt and smooth.
“You’re usually so perceptive,” There was something like disappointment in his tone as Akechi raised the Styrofoam cup, shaking the contents. “It’s about this.”
“Coffee?”
Akechi nodded, and with a glint in his eye, asked: “Would you like to taste it?”
It was like that day back in Le Blanc, before the casino…before the ark…Just as it was then, life was about to change, whether that meant living in a presumed perfect world or living without…
Akira didn’t want to think about it, and instead of dwelling on possible realities he extended his hand towards the cup. Bitter coffee was the least of his worries and the look in Akechi’s eyes…this time, Akira wouldn’t, couldn’t, deny what he saw in their depths.
The mist of rain was cool against the back of his neck, and in the distance, there came the echo of the temple’s bell. Akira’s hand, for a moment, felt suspended in the air as he waited for Akechi to hand him the cup. With eyes that never left Akechi’s, he allowed himself to indulge himself, just this once, with the beginnings of flirting. He was already ten steps ahead in mind: he was going to take the cup, and, with a sip, make a small joke about an indirect kiss.
But Akechi was more forward than that, more apt to the logistics of wordplay. Akira’s hand was taken within his own, the cup dropped and spilling onto the pavement, as fingers intertwined themselves together.
